Lose Not Thy Nature (A Hunger Games SYOT-- CLOSED)
by SnarkyAngel
Summary: 12 Districts...24 Tributes...only one can be named the Victor. Will it be yours?
1. Prologue

The small servant girl tentatively neared the President's office, carrying a small envelope with her. She knocked on the door, her knuckles shaking with anxiety.

"You may come in, Fuchsia." The stern voice of President Irina Briar echoed from just outside the dark mahogany barrier. Fuschia entered the office, which was a grand room with shining marble floors and one large, two-way glass acting as a wall to the outside world and the Capitol's bustling downtown area. It was there, facing the window that the President of Panem stood, with her arms crossed and her dark brown hair in a neat bun.

President Briar was concerned; this Quell was risky. Mind you, the Quarter Quells, or 25th anniversaries of the Hunger Games, had just as dangerous, if not more so, and previous Presidents hadn't been that bothered. It wasn't President Briar's first Hunger Games, by any means, but it was the first Quarter Quell she'd presided over. It was natural to feel apprehension, even fear about what would happen this—No. It was alright, Briar would be fine. The Quell would proceed as planned and nothing would go wrong.

"The Gamemaker wanted me to tell you that you—you must be on stage in two minutes, Madam President," Fuchsia stammered, dragging Briar out of her thoughts.

The President thanked the small girl, and before long, in a steel gray suit that matched her eyes, she stepped up onto the stage.

After the anthem ended, President Briar began to speak, reminding everyone of the Dark Days, the founding of the Quarter Quell: a better, more _glorious _version of the games, each with a meaning, to refresh the memory of the needless rebellion that killed so many.

She began her speech to the capitol, and to all the districts watching from their television sets:

"You all know why we had the previous Quells; the 25th games were to remind Panem that children were dying because their parents chose them to, the tributes were voted in; the 50th games, a reminder that two rebels died for each capitol citizen, twice as many tributes were sent to the arena; the 75th games, to symbolize that even the strongest cannot overcome the Capitol, the tributes were reaped from the existing pool of victors; the 100th games stood as a reminder that that the weak will starve, and the 11 losing districts had their tesserae amounts for the next reaping reduced drastically. The 125th games were meant to show the districts that the rebels could trust no one, and any tribute found in an alliance with another died instantly."

_There was very nearly a rebellion that year, _Briar thought drily, _due to the Careers traveling in that little pack of theirs._ She cleared her throat and continued:

"The 150th games, to let the rebels know that their families are never safe, the selected tributes had to choose one family member to go in with them. The 175th games stood as a symbol to the citizens and the rebels that they are never safe, and thus no Tribute was a victor that year and everyone reaped had to die. The 200th games: to show the Districts how easy it is to weaken them, there will be neither any available tesserae involved in the reaping, nor any sponsorships during the Games. To remind the people of how the Capitol can control the others, 24 Gamemakers, one for each tribute, controlled the tribute's movements in the 250th session of the Games. In the 275th Hunger Games, to show the districts that the Capitol strikes back hard against rebels, the male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of lawbreakers and all those related to the criminal by blood.

"And now, we honor our 300th games. On this, the 300th anniversary of our great nation, the Quarter Quell will stand as a new reminder." Briar cleared her throat and began. "To prove to the districts that when they rebelled they knew nothing of the consequences, all the girls of a District will put a boy's name in the ballot for the reaping, and the boys shall do the same for the girls. With the new rule in place, let the Hunger Games…begin."

Then, as quickly as she had arrived, the President left the stage.


	2. Reaping-- District 1

Uschi's POV:

I admit, there's something exciting about the Reaping.

Every year, there's always a big celebration involved with the beginning of the Hunger Games; since the winner is almost always from District 1, 2, or 4, being a Tribute is a big deal here. As I slip on my form-hugging black-and-purple dress, I say a prayer—for the 4th time in a row—that I'll be the one chose to compete in the Games. My father was a previous Victor, and he's been preparing me to be a Tribute ever since I turned 10. He told me that he won my mother's heart when he returned home victorious; maybe if I win, I'll be able to win over any guy I want here. Like Xavier, or Pilot, or Zane, or… Ugh! Focus, Uschi.

The enormous crowd has begun to surround the podium where Margold Summerbee stands, prim and proper in a bronze strapless dress, ready to retrieve the names of Tributes from the jars. She bends down, selects a slip of paper and reads a name:  
"Uschi Füschlein."

The mass of people begin to gasp and cheer as I, my face flushed and hands shaking, began to make my way to up to the stage.

"Way to go, mäuschen." My father, smiling at me, pats me on the back as I go up the staircase and shake hands with Marigold. As I look down upon my audience, my eyes suddenly meet my father's.

He's smiling and clapping with everyone else, but his smile doesn't seem to meet his eyes. I can't understand why he seems so serious all of a sudden. Competing in the Hunger games is a privilege, and honor.

Right?

Jin-Mao's POV:

I roll my eyes as the crowd around me begins to cheer for that airhead Uschi and her fake, plastic smile. Then again, I guess if _I _was the daughter of a Victor and one of the wealthiest people in District 1, I'd be a stuck-up loud-mouth, too. I know I shouldn't be complaining—after all, I'm living in the wealthiest District in Panem—but my family's never had as much money as her, so she looks down on me. That's why my parents want me to get married to the mayor's daughter, Xue, even though I already have a girlfriend that I love, Daiyu. I'm already living with Xue and her family, and while there's nothing _bad_ about her, I hate being forced into this, and I hate that I can't even be in the same place with Daiyu anymore.

The sound of Marigold's squeaky accent makes me lose my train of thought as she asks for volunteers to replace Uschi. When none offer, she reaches down into the jar, showing as much of her cleavage as possible, and pulls out a name, and she cries the name of "Pilot Newton." Pilot, a blonde-haired boy about my age steps forward, and, after he shakes Marigold's hand, the escort asks for volunteers. And then it hits me: whoever enters the Games will return a Victor. A champion. They'll come hom wealthier than anyone in the District. The Victor can marry whoever they choose, on their own terms.

They'll be completely free.

"I volunteer!"


	3. Reaping-- District 2

Drew's POV:

The landscape of District 2 is lit up by the sun, dying the high deserts and the rugged mountains a dull orange as its light touched the surface. I can feel the sunrays grazing against my skin as I end my light jog up the rocky hill.

"Father won't be happy with you for coming to the ceremony looking like that, Drew." I can hear my older brother, Antonio, mocking my attire as we neared the reaping ceremony. While my brother was dressed in a gray vest and black dress pants, I was in a tight-fitting V-neck shirt and shorts. The outfit was covered in grass stains and sweat stains around the armpits, but I casually replied, "Aw, come on, Toni. Father won't care how I look as long as long as I'm the one who becomes the Tribute for District 2."  
Toni rolled his eyes. "Figures. You've always been Father's favorite." It was true. While Toni was the intellectual type, the kind of son _Mother _wanted, I was a product of my father's instruction and training. He's been wanting this for me my whole life, and why shouldn't he? I'm from District Two, I'm fit, and I'm hot. I'm awesome! This is the moment I've been waiting for!

As my brother and I near the podium, I can see the escort, Flicker, applauding for someone; a girl, by the looks of it, a short girl with black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks proud of herself, and I can see her head held high as the crowd around her cheers for her, but I notice her fingers beginning to eyes dart toward a person in the sea of faces. I smirk to myself. _She's afraid, _I thought. _Good. She'll be easy prey, then._

Aki's POV:

Flicker appears to be done with my reaping, and turns her attention to the boys' jar. It is at this time that I turn my head toward Heathcliffe, my boyfriend. He won the Games last year, and I can see sorrow welling up in his eyes. The only reason that he entered the Hunger Games last year was because he'd volunteered in his brother's place. He didn't want his little brother to go through that, and I can tell he's worried for what _I'm_ going to be like when I come home from the Games. _If_ I come back, I mean.

I try to seem as optimistic as possible as I see my father, his face twisted into an overjoyed expression at seeing me on top of the podium. I quickly look away; he's probably imagining how much money we'll win if I come back a Victor like Heathcliffe. That's all I'm good for anymore, right? Getting married to a wealthy suitor so our family can get even wealthier! That's the only reason Heathcliffe and I are allowed to be together is because of all the wealth Heathcliffe got once he became a Victor; I guess it's a good thing I love my boyfriend or I'd be so mad at my father!

"Drew Bryant!" Flicker's high-pitched cry pierces through my reverie and I see the brown-haired boy stomp onto the stage. With each loud, obnoxious step, Drew dared anyone to volunteer to take his place. When no one did, he plastered a huge, pompous smile on his face and took his place next to me, spreading his arms wide to get the crowd to cheer him on and making sure to cover my face with his arms.

"Drew! Drew! Drew!" they chant.

"Hey! I'm here, too!" I protest, but one look from Drew immediately shuts me up.

"Now, now, Aki," my new partner snickered. "No one finds vanity attractive, you know."

I internally groan as the crowd showers Drew with applause. This is going to be a long Hunger Games…


	4. Reaping-- District 3

Bo's POV:

The first thing I heard was the alarm clock I designed going off, the wires that connect it to my bed making my cot vibrate until I rolled over and fell onto the ground. Scowling, I rubbed my head and looked at the clock. "It's time for the Reaping, Master Bo," my clock chirped. I stood up and got dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and blue jeans, my standard outfit. My mother shook her head seeing my attire, but continued to fix my baby sister's gingham dress as we prepared to go to the ceremony. My father was already there, and waved to us as we approached him. Dad works late into the night as a technician at one of the plants here in District 3, so we hardly see him. One day, I'll end up working with him day and night, surrounded by cold metal and wires.

Awesome.

Finally reunited, my family and I went to the square where I was herded with the other eligible teenagers, my little sister crying silently as I left. To try to calm myself down, I began talking to one of the kids next to me, a blonde-haired girl named Sparky.

"So, how'd you do on that last test?" I asked, just trying to converse with the blonde. "_I'm_ pretty sure I failed. You got 47 for that last question, right? _I _thought that was a hard one, but I _did_ figure it out—"

"Bo, would you just shut up?" the girl snapped. "You're top of the class; I'm sure you did fine."

"No, I'm pretty sure I failed—" I begin to protest again, but I can see that Sparky has begun ignoring me as she fiddles with a piece of wire connected to a battery. I turn around, looking for anyone else I could make small talk with, but no-one in the crowd will make eye contact with me, muttering about me being "annoying." Well, with no one left to "annoy," I simply closed my eyes and began to breathe slower, trying to convince myself that, as the escort for my District takes the stage, I would not be picked. However, the reaping gods, it seemed, had other ideas….

"Sparky Solder!" the escort called out. Everyone's heads turn, and I feel Sparky physically stiffen beside me.

Sparky's POV:

"Well, up you go, Sparkplug," my older brother says, but I don't register that he's actually speaking to me. It's as if I'm suddenly incapable of feeling anything, like I'm one of those little robots that my brother and I love to build so much. He pushes me a little, and I finally come out of my state of shock.

Feeling as though my legs are moving against my own free will, I slowly and mechanically walk to the stage. _Don't freak out…don't freak out. It's going to be ok, Sparky_. I look around at the crowd at my feet, but, save for my brother, I see no familiar faces; my parents must not have known. Typically, they liked to only watch the beginning, say they were there, and go home. Neither of them really likes to watch the children get reaped, and I guess they were thinking that neither I nor my brother would get reaped. They would know, it would be announced again later. The escort, Aero, nods to me, and then reaches his hand into the bowl filled with the names of the boys.

"Bo Sun!" Upon hearing Bo's name being called by our escort, I begin to regret the mean thing I just said to that scrawny little introvert. Or _all_ the mean things I've said to him, really. Bo may be school smart—excessively so, in my opinion—there's no way he's going to be able to make it out there. There's no way he'll survive the torture that is the Hunger Games, brought on by the twisted minds of our friendly neighborhood Capitol. He joins me on the podium, his slender hands twitching a bit.

As the audience applauds, and Aero goes over the rules of the new Quarter Quell, I take a moment to glance at Bo, who was muttering something to himself under his breath. In a sudden impulsive move, I reach over and grab the boy's quivering hand; he jumps slightly, but visibly calms down. "District 3, your tributes: Bo Sun and Sparky Solder!" Aero shouts, his platinum-colored afro practically shaking with excitement, and the two of us prepare to board the train that will take us to the Capitol.


	5. Reaping-- District 4

Andrew's POV:

"Andrew, wake up! You have to get ready for the Reaping!" My little sister, Heidi, called from downstairs. I groaned and turned over in my huge bed, only to fall off of it. My sister must have heard me fall, because I heard her laughing with my little brother, Josh. I opened the window by my dresser, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the world outside. I pulled myself up off the floor and went to take a shower.

After my shower I got dressed in my best clothes: a pair of khaki pants with a blue and white button-up polo shirt. I checked my hair in the mirror before I left. Still light brown and still completely straight, no matter what.

Great.

I slid down the banister of the stairs, and I nearly crashed into Heidi. She laughed."Next time don't wake up so late. We've got a ceremony to go to," she scolded me, hands on her hips. She takes after our mother, I suppose. Both of our parents died in a boating accident. After their deaths, Heidi and I took the role of being the caretakers for our baby brother, Josh. He was still very young, only 4 years old, so he couldn't go to the Reaping.

"Sorry, Heidi," I muttered to my sister as we put Josh down for a nap.

"No worries. Come on we have to get to the Town Square." I nodded. After arranging for out next-door-neighbor to watch Josh, the two of us departed.

When we got to the Square we saw we were late. There were already a ton of kids and parents waiting. Heidi and I got our blood taken and she went to the girls' side and I went to the boys' side. We waited for our escort to come onto stage. Her name was Velvet Colette.

Velvet walked onto stage dressed in one of the strangest outfits I've ever seen. She had on a shiny violet jacket with frilled sleeves over an orange shirt and a sparkling pink skirt. Her leggings were also purple, with fuchsia flowery jewelry to match her large multicolored afro that looked like a giant snow cone on the top of her head. The tops of her boots were fluffy and a brighter shade of violet than the rest of her clothing. She was talking but I wasn't paying attention, my mind blanked as the typical Hunger Games video that was being played. It's the same one every year, and I admit that it can get kind of depressing at times. I begin to zone out a bit, but when she started towards the name bowls, I immediately paid attention.

"Happy Hunger Games! Welcome to the 300th Games, making this a brand-new Quarter Quell! I'm so proud to choose the representatives for this momentous occasion! We'll start with the boys this year, shall we?" she squeaked in her annoying, high-pitched voice. She reached her hand deep into the boys' bowl and, in full knowledge of the drastic increase in tension, she pulled a single name out. She opened the paper and spoke into the microphone, "Andrew Venturanza!" She said. I gasped; that was my name. I took a breath and walked to the front and onto the stage, trying as hard as I could to keep my face hard as stone and void of any emotion, in spite of the turmoil going on in my mind.

"Now for the Ladies…" she pulled a paper and read it, "Airavata Thyme."

Airavata's POV:

She said my name. My name, out of all those in the jar, was called out. I'm not sure if I should feel proud or scared out of my mind. Nevertheless, I started to walk toward the stage, as I hear my father cheer my name. I roll my eyes, and don't turn around. My dad's wanted me to be a Victor like he was. I really couldn't care less; all the "Careers" in town are snobs and only pay attention to me because of my father.

"We have our Tributes. Please state your names." The escort, a girl with a rainbow sherbet-esque afro (named Velvet, I believe) held the microphone out to us.

I spoke, "My name is Airavata Thyme, and I will win the Games!" I said with confidence. My cry was met with (big shock) raucous applause, as Velvet hands the microphone to my new partner.

"I am Andrew Venturanza," the boy said simply, his eyes revealing nothing. The crowd applauded politely, but we could both tell they weren't impressed.

After Andrew said his name, Velvet had us shake hands. It was only then that I saw the true shock and fear in Andrew's eyes. I felt bad for the guy; he and his little siblings are orphans, and their story is kind of popular in town. If he dies here, he'll leave his brother sister all alone again. Then she ushered us to the City Hall where my father flew at me in a hug. He has the same tan skin and same sea-green eyes that I have, but his eyes had wrinkles around them, a feature that was augmented by the giant smile he wore on his face. Strange; he rarely showed emotions, unlike me, and this was a new shock.

"I'm so proud of you, Airavata," he murmured, hugging me tightly. I hugged him back for the sake of it. I need to feel like SOMEBODY'S on my side. "You'll do great; just remember your training, and you won't die, all right?"

"I promise I won't die." I teased, trying not to consider that possibility. Looking as though he was trying to avoid thinking about that chance, my father pulled away and unclipped something from his neck and handed it to me.

"Hold onto this, dear. It will keep you safe; it's the charm I gave your mother when we got married." He clipped it around my neck and he kissed my forehead in fatherly affection. I hugged him once more, thanking him for my new token, before the Peacekeeper's came to take him away. Then the door closed and I was all alone.

"I have to win… for my father," I vowed silently to myself.

I just hope I don't die trying.


	6. Reaping-- District 5

Lizzie's POV

My hands tightened around my mother's wrist. I watched as the sun's rays slowly made their appearance. I shook my head, trying hard to clear out the image of me getting reaped. _Stop it, Lizzie, I thought, I won't be reaped. I am merely a slip in thousands. There's no way I'll be picked. It's not statically probable. _But I know that isn't true. District 5 always has a low amount of tessera because of its low population, so I have to submit my name at least 30 times just to ensure that my mother and I survive. So I lay down and relaxed. A few more hours of sleep before the horror _truly _begins…

I watch my mother put on her favorite purple dress and a pair of old silver shoes. "You look great, Mom!" I said. Mother laughed and said, "Well, what about you?" I looked down at my own outfit and yelped melodramatically. "Oh, no!" I groaned sarcastically. "I'm dressed in filthy rags! You know, those things we wear everyday in this place!"

"Yes, I know," my mother teased. "Just pick something out from the closet and we'll be off." Nodding, I quickly zipped into the bathroom and was gone. When I finally finished changing into an old gray dress of my mother's, we both headed out for the reaping.

In the square, I found myself nervously clutching my dress in the 14-year-olds' group. When the square fell silent, I knew it was time. A brightly-colored man dressed in a tie-dye suit bounced up to the center of the crown and titters, "Happy Hunger Games! Let's start the reaping with the ladies, shall we? May the odds be ever in your favor!" Just a few slips in thousands. Just keep repeating that; you'll be fine. And he snatched up the first slip he found, and read out…my name. It seemed impossible. It's impossible, or so I thought. Is this really happening? But it was reality all right, and a boy from my class reached over and pushed me up. I didn't move, instead choosing to remain perfectly still, frozen in fear. On impulse, I reached inside my dress pocket and pulled out my old, slightly chipped silver locket. It had my father's picture in one of the locket's "frames." He died five years ago in a power plant explosion. Looking at his face gives me the strength I need, and I stand up, albeit trembling, making my way toward the stage. Before I shook the escort's hand, I made the mistake of looking out into the crowd, and my mother's tear-stained face stands out among the mass of people. I silently pray that my mom would not suffer from my death.

Dillon's POV

I'm standing in the 12 year-old section in front of the Justice Building. I hate this day… The Reaping day… I hate the capitol for doing this. 23 innocent children have to die, I absolutely hate it. I mean, this isn't my first year I'm able to _be_ here, in my tan pants, and stained, black shirt, and pretty much on a death sentence if I get reaped. So why am I so worried? I begin picking at one of the holes in my pants, trying to relax—well, visibly relax, anyway. I can see my younger sister, Cecelia, who is only 13 years old, crying away from the crowd. I don't know why, but my father wouldn't let her take any tesserae, and her name is in there only once among the thousands of other slips. My name, on the other hand, is there 52 times, I should be the one to worry.

I see the escort, a flamboyant-looking man with a gaudy tie-dye suit, walk up to the stage. I hear him start talking about how we owe the capitol and crap like that, so I just tune out. He then walks over to the women's reaping bowl and booms out a girl's name. A tall girl with short brown hair marches onto the stage, and the escort reaches down into to the men's reaping bowl for the name of the male Tribute. He calls it out.

It can't be…

It's my name.

Before I know what I'm doing, I find myself making my way to the stage.

My sister is yelling at me, she knows I'm going to die, doesn't she? It's all that I can think.

"Hello!" the escort chirped. "And what is your name, young man?" I feel so embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, my name is Dillon Earl, sir." My cheeks go red, and I am slightly embarrassed. I can practically feel everyone's eyes focused on me. I hate that feeling.

"Hmmm, I recognize that last name. Your sister got reaped last year, didn't he?" I think the tears slightly beading in my eyes answer his question. Last year my sister was caught by the Careers, and they tore her apart, and threw the rest of her into salt water. All you could hear were her screams…

Maybe that's why Dad won't let Cecelia put her name in more times than she has to…

The man called out, "Dillon Earl, ladies and gentlemen!" Glancing around the stage, I saw the brown-haired girl's eyes widen in fear. Well, I'll help her a bit. Why not? I shook hands with her and smiled. She looked away and blushed.

The man smiled. "I give you the Tributes of District Five, Lizzie Treiber and Dillon Earl!"


	7. Reaping-- District 6

Jasey-Rae's POV

"Jasey! Come on, honey, wake up!" My uncle's deep voice called to me from the downstairs living room. I had almost forgotten about the Reaping Day. Or, I tried to, anyway. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and forget about the whole thing. Unfortunately, my aunt had other plans, and ripped my mother's blanket off my back and pulling on one of my ears.

"What do you want Raja? It's like 6 in the morning. Reapings don't start until 7:30. Go back to bed," I groaned.

"Come on, girl, you have to get ready for the Reapings. Your uncle has already gotten dressed and is ready to eat. Go take a shower before you prepare our breakfast," Raja commanded sharply before standing straight and walking out my bedroom door to the kitchen.

I rubbed my eyes and grumbled to myself as I took my shower and got dressed. I put on my flowy, white dress with light blue flowers decorating the skirt. It was my mother's favorite dress before she died.

When we (FINALLY) arrived at the reaping, my uncle, his wife, and I stood in the middle of a large crowd surrounding a stage. On the stage stood a man with long white hair, his unnaturally slender body in a bright purple suit. His name was Jon Waltz, according to the writing on the back of his blazer.

"Welcome!" he said in a nasally voice. "It's time again to choose this year's Tributes for the 78th Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor! It's time to choose one courageous young man and woman to participate in the Hunger Games! Ladies first, as always." He walked to the bowl and reached in swirling his hand a few times, making sure the tension built. He pulled a single slip of paper out. Opening it he spoke into the microphone.

"Juanita-Rae Holland." He smiled. Everyone looked at me, the unlucky girl. I felt Raja push me toward the stage, and I hesitantly made my way up the stage with the escort.

"Congratulations, Juanita-Rae!" the escort chirped. I cringe; I hate when people call me that, but with all the people watching, I couldn't get too mad at him. Well, outwardly, anyway.

"Sorry; it's Jasey-Rae, sir," I correct him, but he isn't listening, of course. Jon just moved on to the next item on his agenda, and selected the name of the boy tribute.

"That's wonderful, dear. Now for the boys!" he chirped walking over to the boys' bowl. "And the winner is…Ford Testarossa!"

A pale-skinned boy with brown hair and eyes was attempting to grin, but his smile didn't seem to meet his eyes. He did eventually edge forward, though, but…

"No! I volunteer!"

Mustang's POV

I yelled out my declaration. I walking swiftly through the walkway before anyone else could object. This was my moment of glory. Mine. Not the quiet boy. Not the goody-two-shoes. Not the joker. Me.

We're completely different, Ford and I. I'm more muscular than he is, my hair and eyes are redder, and my skin is darker because he works indoors. There's a reason I'm the favorite with the ladies. And our parents, for that matter.

"A volunteer! Excellent! What is your name, son?" He asked, shaking my hand.

"Mustang Testarossa." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ford's face reddening, his teeth grinding furiously. Perfect.

"Related to Ford, eh?" I could tell by the look on this white-haired moron's face that he wasn't expecting that. "Well, everyone let's have a round of applause to this year's tributes! And May the odds be ever in your favor, Mustang," Tom said as he encouraged another half-hearted clap from the audience.

After I awkwardly had to shake hands with the scrawny, black-haired girl who was also chosen, the escort ushered both of us to the back to say our final goodbyes to our families. I couldn't help but notice that nobody came to see the girl (Juanita?) off.

Juanita-Rae and I waited, then the door opened and my twin sister pelted in her face streaked with tears. She threw her arms around her older brother and sobbed into his shoulder.

She began hiccupping and wiped her face. Skye was always weak; Dad said it was mostly due to her gender. Makes sense to me; Mom's the same way, and that Juanita girl, too, probably.

"I won't die. I'll come back okay? But you have to be a strong, brave girl. You hear?" He said sternly.

She gave a nod and wiped her nose. The Peacekeepers came and prepared to take her away.

Ford never came. I saw him and his girlfriend walking away from the rest of District 6.

Next came my parents. They didn't say anything, they just told me to win and come back. I got a tearful hug from Mom; she sobbed so much that she eventually had to leave. Females. Meanwhile, my father just awkwardly clasped my shoulder and gave a nod. He seemed proud of me (I mean, I _am _his son, after all), but he seemed more interested in a shapely woman on the other side of the crowd. Marie, I think her name was. There's so many of them here. Mom seemed to know it, and they left soon after.

Finally getting a moment's peace, I sat and began thinking. I would be on my way to the Capitol very soon, so I had to start thinking of how I would act in the arena. Maybe I should surprise everyone in the Arena, appear weak then explode or something. I smirked. _I hope you're ready, Juanita. You and every other weakling in these Games…_


End file.
